Participants:
| Scene Title | Aaaaaaaaaaa |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy. — Jean Anouilh |
| Date | March 1, 2011 |
Living several lives at once can be daunting. But those challenges all kind of become insignificant at the massive perks on the other side of the scale. But the challenges can be felt on the other ends of all those lives. Technically one could have a ridiculous amount of friends, even significant others. Should one choose to live that way, it wouldn't be hard to get away with it. So the amount of trust Multiple Man's loved ones have to have is challenging in and of itself. Even while with her, Brian could be with someone else. But trust has been built, there has been no desire to keep the truth from Samara. (In most cases). But still the trust she has to has for him is great.
In one day, the amount of things that Brian does that he does not tell her could be numerous. Not because he keeps things from her, but that it would just be way too much talking. So she gets the highlights of the highlights. A brief skim over the big deals. So when Brian sent a few of him on a supply run with Lynette he didn't bother telling her.
Why would he?
Just a routine deal that they've done plenty of times before. And he was with her and the kids the whole time anyways. The two had a dinner together, finally put the kids to bed in their small Jamaica Bay haven. Once all the kids were put to bed, Brian and Samara had a few rounds of a game called King of The Planet before eventually passing out next to each other. That was several hours ago.
A light pattering of rain can be heard on top of the roof. Luckily they repaired a few of the leaks or else they would be swimming in it. As it stands, the little home is mostly warm and dry protected from the onslaught of nature. The morning if it could even be considered that is ridiculously early. The Sun is just now contemplating rising on this side of the planet. Shedding a tiny bit of pre dawn light on Jamaica Bay. For some reason, the window to Brian and Samara's room is open, allowing rain and a stupid breeze to penetrate the otherwise dry safety of their room.
Not only that but Brian is gone. The mattress next to Samara is completely vacant. There's no light on in the bathroom, no sound of running water. No sound of clanking in the kitchen. The only thing to be heard is the rain…
Drowsily, Sam leans over to feel the empty mattress, her hand seeking her fiancee, earning little more than a mumble. She scrubs her face roughly to quietly murmur a single word, "…Brian?" Slowly, she rolls out of bed, tugging the blanket a little tighter around her body as she does so. Her bare body slides over to the dresser to tug an oversized t-shirt over her head. "Brian?" she repeats a little louder. There's a quick shiver as she reaches for a hoodie sweatshirt to pull over the t-shirt followed by a lazy pair of yoga pants— comfortable with her ever-expanding waist.
She rubs her eyes a little harder as barefeet pad along the cold floor over to the door of the bedroom.
Carefully she opens it amid a muffled creak. She cranes her neck to peer around the corner and slide carefully into the kitchen and down the hall. "Brian?" she calls a little louder again. She doesn't want to wake the kids, not this early— she'd have to contend with more than she's bargained for.
Click
The cold telltale sound that is all too familiar now. It doesn't take too long for Samara to find the source of the noise, namely because it's hovering right to the side of her face now. The gun remains perfectly still as it hovers menacingly beside her head. But worse than the gun is it's wielder. As her vision is able to stop focusing on the weapon and move past it her eyes will find that her assailant is none other than her fiancee. The expression he has is stoic, calm even, if anything it might have a slightly agitated tone to it.
Brian waves the gun back towards the room she just started to exit. A cue to go back in. He keeps the weapon trained on her, eyes not leaving her for a moment. He's wearing a suit. Not something that he usually wears. But he brought it along to the Bay House 'just in case'. There is no tie, the top button remaining open revealing the slightest bit of his chest.
The sound is enough to have Sam raise her hand over her head; it’s a sound that initiates her fight or flight mechanism. Her heart pounds in her throat and her face blanches. But anxiety transforms to sheer confusion as she catches the gun’s bearer. Barefoot steps have her sliding back into the bedroom in a simple reaction rather than an actual response. “Brian,” she whispers, “what’s going on?” Her trust isn’t easy to breach even with a gun pointing at her face.
She could easily phase out. Easily disappear like some test that this could be. But. This is Brian. There’s no reason to run. “What are you doing?” she whispers quieter. “This isn’t funny— “ as if she needs clarify. “— you’re going to scare one of the kids. Please..” the suit is regarded with a crinkle of her nose.
"Stop." Brian commands crisply, quietly. There's a certain finality to it, as if he isn't going to listen to anything else. The gun remains up, unwavering. He gestures in towards the room again. "It's not going to work." His eyes flick to the side as if looking for something else. Or expecting something else, they then flick back to Samara. "What did you do, adynomine? Use the Haitian or someone like him? Whoever you used, they didn't go deep enough. You fucked up." Brian leans forward, the cold barrel of the gun going to rest against her forehead.
"Back up." He commands again, gesturing with his free hand towards the bedroom. "If you don't do what I say, I will shoot you. If you make any sudden movements, I will shoot you. Now back up." Winters growls again, some of the pressure presses in a little tighter against her head. "Back up."
”I’m sorry?” Sam actually asks as she takes a step further into the bedroom, following the directions. Her voice quiets further while her hands remain high in the air. “Why— why would I?” her lips part wordlessly as she gapes at him. “I.. Brian.. sweetie… what’s going on?” her eyebrows knit together tighter while her hands raise higher. “I don’t know what’s going on.. but.. Bri.. I…” her face pales further as she blinks fiercely. Moisture edges each of her hazel eyes. “You can’t. You wouldn’t.. just.. put the gun down and we’ll figure out what’s going on…” Confusion breeds a very different kind of anxiety as her throat tightens.
She sniffles. “Brian you.. you wouldn’t..”
"Stop saying my name." Brian snarls, teeth baring as his lips pull back. Apparently she broke through his stoic demeanor. The door is closed behind him. Though he doesn't even look at it as he tugs it closed. Pulling it with his free hand while his eyes remain on Samara, gun still pointed at her. "You're not going to play me." The gun gestures to the bed. "Sit down." He snaps, taking a few circling steps around the room. His attention, and his gun never leave her.
"Where is this place? I don't know what your plan is. Are you ex-company trying to get back in their graces? But you're not taking me back in. I don't know how you're negating me but.." His teeth bare in a sort of angry gesture. "Or how.." How she got him in bed. He'll have to write it off to some kind of limited mind control. Which has him taking a few steps backward as he thinks about it. Stepping over to the window, he glances out. "Keys to the car."
”Ex-company? B-Bria— “ she begins only to stop and shake her head as Sam’s hands move to her head. “It’s me, it’s Sam! Your Sam.. your fiancee..” she pales a little further, the signs of life drain from her face. “This is.. our safehouse. Where..” her head turns towards one of the other rooms. “..the kids…. The kids… Brooklyn..” Her eyebrows arch high on her forehead as a single tear a trail down her face. For the first time since the gun has been aimed at her, she’s actually scared. Her body trembles against the emotion as she collapses to the floor. Not the bed. Her body can’t compensate. The ripples of emotion come in waves over her, contained in the trembling of her shoulders, hands, and legs.
Her hands crawl over her face. “You.. you.. what’s going on.. please,” she squeaks, “What’s going on?”
His eyes flick down as she actually crumples to the ground. The rest of the words are tuned out. He won't hear them. Last thing he knew he was being actively hunted by The Company. And so this girl must be some over elaborate trap to… It's confusing. It makes his head hurt just trying to justify any of the inconsistencies to that theory. But it's the only thing that makes sense. His gun remains up, trained on Samara. He takes a few steps forward than pauses.
She's crying, she's crumpled on the ground. She's pleading him. While he believes it to be a ploy, the emotional pain painted on her is too much for him. He backpedals to the window. He rests against his sill, keeping the gun trained on her. He'll just have to run in the rain without a car it seems. He starts to lift his leg, going to straddle the window. "Stop crying." He mumbles as he goes to pull his other leg over.
The order does nothing to stop the tears. In fact, in usual Samara fashion, the sobs become more vocal, noisy with hiccups. “..I’m..” hiccup “..pregnant..” In other words? These days she’s naturally hysterical. Her tears pool in the palms of her hands until she finally lowers her hands to look up at him. “How.. how can I stop?” She sniffles louder.
”You— my fiancee— the only person who saw me when no one else could act like..” she hiccups “..you..” Her shoulders tighten further as her red puffy bloodshot eyes peer up at him. “How.. could you?” she whispers. “Don’t.. don’t you know who I am?”
There’s a pause as she clears her throat, “I’m having..” she gasps for breath, desperate for something stable, “..your baby..” She hugs her legs tightly to her chest. “Please.. tell me what’s going on.. I can help.. we can find people to help.. Delia?” She rubs her tears away from her face. “Eric?” again she mops her tears in her pathetic state on the floor. Crushed. Scared. Worried. “Gillian?” with another sniffles she shakes her head at that one. No. Gillian is not an option.
"That's not my fault." He responds crisply to her declaration that she is pregnant. As he lands on the other side of the window, he doesn't dare let down his gun. The sobbing woman could rapidly become a woman with firehands or dangerous brain melting rays. Taking a few steps outside the building, Brian stares at the woman. Could he be wrong? No, he's never seen this woman. The gun slowly comes down as the rain splatters against it, as if pleading with him to lower the gun.
Peering through the rain into the window, he stares at her. None of those names mean anything to him. "I don't know what kind of tricks…" He slaps his lips shut, allowing the rain to take over the silence. Instead he backpedals away from the window, away from the house.